


two steps forward and one away

by pendules



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school/boarding school AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two steps forward and one away

_(sunday)_

 

"You're going to kill yourself," John says from behind his comic book for the tenth time that weekend.

"We have mock exams in two weeks, if you didn't notice," Frank snaps at him.

"Exactly. _Mock_ exams. No one's stressing out over them."

"I bet you Xabi freaking perfect Alonso is."

"Oh, God, not this again. Could you give it a break?"

"John, you don't get it. He's gotten higher marks than me in three of the last five English tests. And _four_ of the last five French tests." Frank looks equally pained and disgusted while relaying these facts.

"It is not a competition."

"Yes, it _is_. It's been a competition since he got here and started sucking up to all the teachers with his modest, self-deprecating bullshit while single-handedly trying to ruin the reputation I've been building for five years."

"I think all this studying is finally driving you insane."

"He has it out for me, John. But I'm going to take him down first. And he won't even see it coming."

The truth is, Xabi's seen it coming for a long time. Probably since his first day and the first words Frank ever spoke to him.

 

The first thing Frank thinks when he opens his mouth is that it is really, indescribably unfair that he could be that eloquent in a second language. And then he has to nerve to _apologise_ for his English. His _fucking flawless English_. And then smile that ridiculously charming (although totally fake, he's sure) smile at Miss. Fitz who looks at him like he's the second coming or something. Frank thinks he's probably going to have a panic attack soon. He just needs — he just needs to _breathe_.

He looks around, and all the girls in the class are paying more attention to what's happening than they had in total for the last five years, probably. And...so is Steven Gerrard, apparently, which is as confusing as this Spanish transfer student being here in the school where Frank Lampard is indisputably the smartest sixth-former in the year and obviously trying to steal his thunder.

Frank just stares at him for a minute or two — he doesn't seem to notice at all, though. He's too busy looking at this guy, this Xabi Alonso, in this ridiculous way, curious but kind of nervous, agitatedly biting his lip. And then he realises that if it looks familiar, it's because he's seen it before. He sees it three times a week, in fact, in French class — and it's the _exact_ way he looks at Alex Curran, the girl he's been mooning over for approximately three years but hasn't said one word to, because apparently his mouth loses its ability to function in her presence. It's kind of pathetic, really, because he's Steven Gerrard, star midfielder and captain of the football team and the sole reason for most of the silverware in the trophy case in Mr. Dalglish's office over the last couple years.

Even Frank has a better track record with girls, and well, he's kind of a nerd. He's not going to deny that. What's the point? Being called a nerd is essentially an acknowledgment of his superior intelligence, and he's always been completely okay with that.

(He looks over at John though, and he's just sitting with his head bent, doodling in the margins of his notebook. As usual. So okay, okay, maybe this _wasn't_ an alternate reality where somehow everything was strategically placed to make his life miserable.)

But this Spanish guy. He's just rubbing Frank the wrong way. Frank's always been uncomfortable around exchange students, but he really does not like this one. Not one bit.

He shakes his hand though, smiles, all teeth and no sincerity, and says, "I hope you do well here."

Frank watches as he goes over to Stevie's seat by the window after making some casual chatter with some of the giggling girls at the front of the class (to Frank's revulsion).

He says, "Hi. I'm Xabi." As if it needed repeating after the totally obnoxious, self-important introduction he'd made before to the entire class.

Stevie sort of stutters for a second, looking down as he shoves books into his backpack, and then stands up too quickly, banging his hip on the edge of the desk. Frank snorts. Xabi doesn't seem to notice, because he's looking directly into his eyes. Stevie bites his lip again, and finally gets control of his tongue and introduces himself too.

Frank forgets about it after that.

He remembers, though, months later when he realises something needs to be done. Urgently.

 

 _(monday)_

 

Which is why he gets John to call one of the football players who's in his Math class to find out Steven Gerrard's number.

"He wants to know if you're completely fucking crazy. His words," John says, while holding his hand over the speaker, clearly belying the statement.

Frank sighs, exasperatedly. Of course, once again, nothing will go right unless he does it himself.

He grabs the phone out of John's hand.

"Just, I don't know, take him out, get him drunk, introduce him to some girls. Whatever you jocks do. Or most normal jocks, anyway," he finishes, realising he's talking to the only football player in England who probably doesn't do any of those things and generally does not take advantage of his athletic talents at all.

"But you don't even like him. You tried to spread a rumour that he was a serial killer."

Frank smirks. That wasn't the only rumour he'd tried to spread, but it was his favourite.

"Come on, he totally looks like one. And normal people are never that nice and polite and happy all the time. There has to be a way he's taking out the stress... But that's not the point. The point is _you_ like him. And seriously, spending some time away from those jocks could only do you good. This is win-win-win for everyone."

"Alright. I'll talk to him or something sometime."

"Good man."

 

 _(tuesday)_

 

So, Stevie invites him to the pub where they usually sneak out to go watch Champions League matches. Well, after chatting with him a couple times in the hallway and after English class. Stevie's actually not complete inept when it comes to social interaction, no matter what Carra says.

"Seriously?" he says, but he doesn't sound that surprised.

"Yeah, I mean. If you want to. I think we all, uh, probably need a breather before exams. And stuff."

"Okay," he says, smile a bit strange but genuine.

*

"I, uh, can't believe you haven't been out here before," Stevie says later.

"Ah, well, I've been busy this year, I guess."

"I think that's an understatement." Stevie's lips quirk into a small smile, and Xabi decides he likes that, how he can be shy and teasing at the same time.

Maybe he kind of likes more than that. Maybe it's the alcohol.

 

Frank first talks to John in fourth form. They have a compulsory Math class together, and although Frank hates Math with the passion of a thousand suns, John sits next to him and seems to understand all the vague references he makes while creatively insulting the teacher or the subject or both. He also seems to find them (and Frank himself, by extension) hilarious. Frank can't believe he's a business student.

"Just for now," he says. "I don't know. Maybe I'll switch when uni rolls around. I've always been into computers and stuff."

Frank's never warmed to someone that quickly ever.

John takes him to see the new Spider-Man movie, and although Frank's definitely not as interested in superheroes as John is, he enjoys it thoroughly.

"He's British, you know, the actor," he's saying, excitedly, not even bothering to lower his voice.

"I do know. I don't live under a rock, you know," Frank replies, but he's smiling.

"Imagine that. A British Spider-Man." John sounds kind of wistful, kind of envious. Frank wonders if he ever grew up at all. Then again, they're still only sixteen. Frank doesn't feel like a kid very much at all though. John gives him rare moments like that, and he takes all of them, keeps them close but won't ever admit it.

John calls him his best friend a couple months after, casual, in passing, like it's no big deal.

Frank just pauses for a second, looking up from his homework. He hasn't ever had a real best friend. And he supposes that's kind of sad.

He gives John a tiny nod, eyes trained downwards and a little hesitant, and John understands more from that than he could ever try to put into words.

He guesses that's what a best friend does.

 

 _(wednesday)_

 

John comes over and brandishes a DVD in his face.

"Come on, man. Extended editions time."

"What?" he says, head snapping up.

"Tonight is LOTR night," John says, matter-of-factly.

"I have some reading to finish."

"Dude."

"We've watched those like ten times each."

"That's the point. Perfection never gets old."

"Another time, John."

"Fine," he says. He sits down at Frank's desk though, and puts the first disk into his laptop, turning the volume down.

He turns it up later, though, when he leaves it still playing next to Frank on the bed and goes back to his room.

Frank wakes up to Sam saying, "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise," and if he believed in deeper meaning and not just coincidence, he might read something into that.

 

 _(thursday)_

 

He only remembers about the whole Xabi-Stevie situation at lunch the next day. He finds Stevie in the cafeteria with the other footballers and practically drags him outside to talk.

"So, how's the whole _thing_ going?"

"Okay, I guess. I think we're hanging out tomorrow again."

"Okay. Good. Just...keep him busy or whatever. He looked tired in class yesterday... That's a good sign."

Stevie looks at him pointedly, as if to say, _Have you seen yourself recently?_

"Yeah, whatever, shut up." He actually hasn't looked at himself properly in a mirror for a couple days, but he's pretty sure his transformation into an actual zombie is mostly complete at this point.

"You know I'm just doing this because I think he genuinely needs a break from the ridiculous lifestyles you people lead, right?"

"I don't care why you're doing it. And I have to go finish my History essay right now, so goodbye."

"Isn't that due next week?" he calls after him.

"I have other stuff to do this weekend. Just keep him busy!" he says again.

 

 _(friday)_

 

Frank turns up late to chess club. John is already clearing up when he walks in.

"Sorry, debate club ran long."

"Right..."

"Well, it ran long. And then I had to talk to Mr. Rogers about something, and then I ran into Stevie and..."

"Yeah, whatever," John says, not looking at him.

"Do you want to play Halo or something tonight?"

"Are you going to fall asleep on me?"

"Probably," he says. And then, apologetically, "I'm too tired to lie right now."

"Okay. Let's go."

*

They go to see a movie, and in the silences, Stevie thinks about reaching over and kissing him. It's kind of strange. He doesn't, though.

Stevie walks him back to his dorm, their hands brushing every so often in the darkness.

 

 _(saturday)_

 

Frank holes himself up in his room for the entire weekend. John brings him coffee and lunch and dinner. He doesn't ever stay very long, and Frank hardly notices him anyway.

Xabi spends Saturday morning on the bleachers watching Stevie's practice, trying but failing to pay attention to his History textbook. He hangs out with Stevie in his room for the rest of the day. He wakes up next to him on Sunday morning.

They skip most of their Monday classes.

 

 _(tuesday)_

 

Xabi forgets about the deadline for the essay. He's talked to the teacher, and maybe there's an extension, but he's still going to be penalised, and this is all turning into a complete disaster. He can't even concentrate. His hands are shaking where they're resting on the keyboard.

Stevie finds him in his room. He's staring at his computer screen, looking kind of lost.

"Hey. You okay?"

"No." He doesn't look at him.

There's a pause, and then he turns to face him. "I think we should go get drunk. Right now."

"Okay."

*

Xabi's chugging his second pint ("I think you should slow down." "That defeats the whole purpose, Steven.") when he sort of laughs and gestures at him vaguely.

"So, does Frank still think he's the mastermind behind all this?"

"What? I don't—"

"That had to be the stupidest plan ever. But the really stupid thing is that it worked."

"So, you knew..."

"And I came with you anyway. Maybe I thought it would be an easy excuse if I failed or didn't _win_ or whatever. Or maybe I just wanted to."

"I wanted to hang out with you," Stevie says, honestly.

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course you did. Because it's that simple for you. You wouldn't understand, because people don't expect anything from you."

Stevie kind of leans back away from him at that, looks at him like he's seeing him for the first time.

"Wow. See, I _knew_ Frank was a jerk. I thought you were better than that."

He drops off his stool and starts heading to the exit.

"Stevie!" Xabi calls after him, but he doesn't look back.

*

Stevie sends a text when he gets back to his room: _it's over. i'm out._

*

It kind of jerks him out of a deep week-long (or year-long, really) trance when Frank gets the message. He sighs. He would call him back and yell at him or use his various proven methods of persuasion again, but — but he's tired. He's tired of all of it. He's ready to admit that.

John hasn't been around in two days.

*

He doesn't mean to find it. He collapses on his bed afterwards, trying not to picture how hurt Stevie had looked. He registers the dull sound of something falling to the ground in his wake. He turns on the light on the bedside table, looks down at the floor. It's Stevie's bag. Of course. He groans as he gets up to retrieve it. Maybe he's on his way to pick it up right now. Maybe he should just leave it outside so he wouldn't — wouldn't have to see his face.

Something's lying next to the bag though. A book that had apparently fallen out. He flips it open.

It's a journal. Carefully written on the inside of the front cover is: _Steven G. Gerrard._

Xabi's hands tighten on it. He turns the page, slides down onto the floor with his back against the bed, and starts reading.

 

 _(wednesday)_

 

He leaves the bag on Stevie's usual seat in English the next morning. The journal's on top of everything else inside of it.

There's a post-it stuck to the first page that says, _you shouldn't hide how great you are._

And, _it was my fault. i'm sorry._

*

There's a note on the whiteboard on his door when he gets back to his room: _if you think you don't need people, then you can't be smart at all._

He wonders if he wrote that in his journal, wrote about him in there. It makes him feel oddly exposed and yet _special_ at the same time — like within those pages and Stevie's words, he can become a better person. He knows that along with descriptions and random musings and stories, there are letters in there too. To people he knows or has never met or made up in his head. Xabi's kind of fascinated by his mind; it's different from anything Xabi's ever written or thought about. And to imagine himself being thought of like that, to imagine Stevie cross-examining him in this new and unique way, it should be disquieting. But it's not. It's refreshing. It makes him believe that he's more than this mold he tried to fit himself in, more than this person he built himself to be. Makes him think that there's more there to be seen by other people who think in different ways.

He looks at the message again.

Xabi's starting to figure that out.

 

 _(thursday)_

 

Xabi catches his eye in class the next day.

It happens a couple more times. But that's all.

 

 _(friday)_

 

It's Friday morning when John storms into the library and finds Frank sleeping, using a Latin dictionary as a makeshift pillow.

John practically yanks it out from under his head, causing him to jerk awake.

"You said it was over."

"John, wha—"

"I just got a call from Stevie," he says, waving his phone in front of Frank's face. "He said you could take your latest sabotage scheme or whatever it is and shove it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been here all this time, and—"

"God, you're such a fucking moron sometimes. You're going to get all As in May. And Oxford and Cambridge will be begging you to start with them in September. All that stuff's guaranteed. There are things that aren't though. Things you probably take for granted."

John walks away then.

Frank isn't actually sure what just happened.

Then a voice comes from behind him.

"I'd say go after him, but I know you're too stubborn to listen to anyone else."

Xabi's standing in one of the aisles in the history section, frowning down at a page he's skimming.

"I take it you heard all of that," Frank says, walking towards him. "And you probably understood it better than I could. Like with everything."

"I just think... Smart people do stupid things sometimes."

"Wow. That's deep. You could write a psych essay on that."

"Smart people also use sarcasm when they're feeling insecure or uncomfortable about something."

"Maybe you can write a whole _book_ of those instead," he says, bitterly, turning towards the shelf Xabi's looking at and grabbing a title at random.

"Maybe you should stop trying to prove yourself to everyone and look around and see what's important. What you've been missing all this time."

"Maybe you should take your own advice." He shoves a book at Xabi before he turns and leaves.

Xabi looks down at it and sighs.

 _A History of British Football_.

Maybe he will.

*

Xabi finds him on the bleachers. It's the first time they've been alone in a while.

"I didn't think you had it in you."

"What?"

"Lying to John?"

"Ah, well, I figured it was for a good cause. I'm kind of a horrific liar though. Nerves, you know."

"Yeah, I do," Xabi says. He kind of loves that. Maybe he loves that the most. "I think it worked though."

Stevie just smiles contentedly.

"I'm sorry," he says, after he sits down next to him. "I guess I've become one of those narrow-minded elitists who judge books by their covers. I'm an asshole. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. You're not the first person to do that."

"It's my fault though. I just got caught up in all my own...stuff."

"Xabi, it's fine. Really."

"Okay. So what are you doing this weekend?" he says, relieved that the air is feeling lighter already.

"Well, I was thinking about going on a date."

And oh. _Oh_.

"So, you finally plucked up the courage to talk to Alex?"

"What? No. I mean, yes. But only because I'm not interested in her like that anymore." He's staring down at his feet now, shifting and fidgeting a little.

"Okay... So who...?"

"Do you want to go out with me, Xabi?" And it looks like he's about to either break into a huge grin or possibly throw up.

"What? Oh. I— This weekend?"

He looks up at him then, slightly nervous expression threatening to fall completely.

"Do you, uh, have to study or something?"

"Yeah. I do have to study, Steven," he says calmly.

"Oh. Okay. I mean—" His gaze drops again.

"But I'd rather go out with you," Xabi finishes.

His expression then is so ridiculous, wide-eyed and unbelieving, that Xabi just has to rest a hand against his face and lean forward to kiss him.

"I liked you even when I thought you were an idiot," Xabi says when he pulls away.

"And I liked you even when I thought you were an asshole."

*

John chooses to ignore him when he reaches his room, headphones on and Econ textbook propped up on his knees. Frank just sighs and sits in his desk chair and waits. He thinks it's the first time all year that he's just shut down his brain completely. No plans or dates or definitions or conjugations chasing themselves around his mind. It's kind of nice. He keeps looking at John. He thinks he may have started smiling at some point.

John looks up curiously after a while, moving his book out of the way.

"What are you grinning at?"

"You."

"Me? I'm still mad at you, you know."

"You could have told me before."

"What?"

"Before today. Before the library."

"I mean, told you what? I didn't tell you anything you didn't already know. Just things you were trying to ignore."

"I didn't know how you felt before though. I didn't."

"And how do you think I feel in that _brilliant_ mind of yours?"

"You care about me for some strange reason."

"I take it back. You're actually the stupidest person I have ever met."

"Okay. Maybe I am."

"I love you, you idiot."

And usually, the way John is looking at him, so open and absolutely trusting, would make him uncomfortable. Usually, he would avoid this. He won't this time, though.

"I love you too."


End file.
